


Spread your wings towards the sun

by MVforVictory



Series: Deep blue, but you painted me golden [1]
Category: P1Harmony (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Yoon Keeho-centric, basically Keeho reads some notsonice things and Theo is a Good Boy, but if u squint a lil its there, hate comments, one actually its just one panic attack, the keeho/theo is pretty minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MVforVictory/pseuds/MVforVictory
Summary: Usually, Keeho is alone when it happens.‘you guys stan a racist.’He doesn’t catch the username, only barely even able to read the comment before it's lost in a sea of fans desperate to be seen. Keeho doesn’t know why it had been that comment, over all of the others, he noticed, but it's too late now for him to question it, now that it's made its way into his head.His chest feels tight.
Relationships: Choi Taeyang | Theo/Yoon Keeho, Haku Shota | Soul & Yoon Keeho, Yoon Keeho & Choi Jiung, Yoon Keeho & Choi Taeyang | Theo, Yoon Keeho & Hwang Intak, Yoon Keeho & Kim Joongseob
Series: Deep blue, but you painted me golden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133090
Comments: 26
Kudos: 123





	Spread your wings towards the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EliKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliKat/gifts).



> hi its 2 am this is barely edited i legit wrote this in 10 hours with one (1) mario party break and about half a season of Survivor and worked on NONE OF MY OTHER, MORE IMPORTANT STORIES BECAUSE I COULDNT GET THIS IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD  
> title is from Butterfly 
> 
> fuck i just really love this group?? ugh whatever
> 
> also, tw//slight suicide mention

Usually, Keeho is alone when it happens.

_‘you guys stan a racist.’_

He doesn’t catch the username, only barely even able to read the comment before it's lost in a sea of fans desperate to be seen. Keeho doesn’t know why it had been that comment, over all of the others, he noticed, but it's too late now for him to question it, now that it's made its way into his head.

His chest feels tight. He doesn’t move for several long, breathless seconds, but he can still hear Jiung and Intak chatting excitedly at his side. No one else acknowledges the comment. No one says anything. Keeho lets himself breathe. It's fine. Nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

_‘wdym keeho’s racist?? 😯’_

_‘Oh yeah wasn’t Keeho the FNC idol that almost got kicked out because of stan twitter lol he’s kind of problematic’_

Problematic. They thought he was problematic. Was he?

He thinks Shota is the first to notice. The younger boy wrapping an arm around Keeho’s back is nothing out of the ordinary for them, but he can see the way his head turns slightly, his eyes lingering on Keeho’s tense frame.

The comments are almost all in English, which Keeho is thankful for. It means he only has to worry about Intak seeing them, and the dark-haired boy is still completely wrapped up in whatever bullshit Jiung was likely feeding him. Keeho should be used to them by now, the comments—but, usually, he’s by himself, and can let the hateful words be buried in a rush of support. Or, if they’re bad enough, he can block the account and spare himself from the spam he knows will follow. 

But, right now, he’s not alone. 

_‘WAIT is the blue haired one the trainee that made the Jimin comment???? EW NO’_

_‘guys he said it was his friends let it go’_

_‘Clear the searches. Keeho bestie Keeho talented Keeho gay’_

_‘What if we get ‘Keeho gay’ trending again ohmgosh’_

He wishes they would stop. He knows they’re just trying to help, but seeing his name and the word _gay_ next to it is almost as bad as the other comments. Not that he has anything against being gay (he can’t, really), but that’s the kind of shit that ends careers in this country, and Keeho can’t afford any more strikes against him. Not when he's already got one foot in the figurative grave of his life as an idol.

“Steph-hyung?”

Shota’s quiet voice breaks through his thoughts. Keeho let his eyes shift to the younger boy’s inquisitive gaze, just for a second, before going back to the iPad in his lap. Shota’s hands find his a beat later, fingers slipping between his own as Keeho lets his left hand be pulled away from the device, only his right hand keeping it balanced on his thigh.

_‘Keeho’s being really quiet. I hope he’s okay!!’_

_‘look at how cute soul is acting with keeho awwww i stan one (1) father and one (1) son’_

After the first negative comment, it becomes so easy to just miss all of the others. All of the comments saying they love his 'fit' today, all of the comments praising his voice, all of the comments telling him he’s relatable and funny and just a pleasure to watch.

It’s easy to ignore them, when all he can think about is this.

_‘How are you idiots gonna have BLM as your pfps but continue to support him? I don’t get it. Couldn’t be me.’_

_‘srsly what did he do to make yall hate him so much DAMN’_

“Keeho?”

“What?” He blinks away the tears that he hadn’t realized began filling his eyes, looking up at Jiung after a second to let his nerves settle at the sudden call of his name. Shota’s hand squeezes his. Keeho tries to squeeze back.

Jiung’s eyebrow raises in question, “Intak asked if there was another color you wanted to dye your hair? A few fans are asking if you have a plan after the teal.”

True to his words, Intak was now holding the other iPad, which had been previously in the possession of Jongseob and Taeyang, in his hands as he leans forward to look past Jiung to Keeho.

Intak, who has a proficient enough grasp of English to be able to understand the comments that are now coming in faster, more frequently, until they’re all Keeho can see. He hopes to God that Intak hadn’t read any. 

Keeho is used to reading these things about himself, but he can’t stand the thought of the others seeing them, and _knowing._ He doesn’t want the questions that will inevitably follow. He doesn’t want them to see just how much these comments affect him.

They follow him everywhere he goes. He can’t go on vLive without seeing his name plastered next to words that make his skin crawl and his stomach twist with anxiety. He can’t cheek twitter without hundreds of tweets “exposing” him and causing new rumors to sprout. 

_‘he shouldnt be in the group if hes only going to cause problems for them’_

It makes Keeho feel sick.

_‘He shouldn’t be here. Period.’_

Jiung says his name again, but Keeho can only focus on the sound of blood rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart against his chest, so strong he fears his ribs cracking under the force.

He had been doing a fine job of holding himself together, at least enough that his hands weren’t visibly shaking and he was still upright. He was holding himself together despite the malicious comments that didn’t seem to end, against the accusations and faults he was repeatedly accused of, no matter how much he tried to deny them. Through the dark days of his scandal and the uncertainty of if the company would even _allow_ him to debut, Keeho held himself together.

Keeho is a nineteen-year-old boy, and it feels like the entire world is against him.

Each time his name trended on Twitter. Each time the others would look at him with concern and uncertainty, asking him if he knew what was going to happen. Each time, he responded with a smile and the assurance that he wasn’t going anywhere. They weren’t getting rid of him that easily.

Keeho held himself together for the longest time, and all it took was one comment for everything, every wall he built, to come crashing down around him.

_‘Really, he should just kill himself. I pity the others that have to be around him constantly. Would probably save them the headache lol.’_

“Turn the video off,” he hears himself mumble, belatedly hoping no one heard him. He doesn’t want to imagine what this will cause in the future, but now, right now, all Keeho can think about how much he doesn’t want this camera on him.

No one moves.

“Turn it _off.”_

Everything goes silent. He barely registers when the iPad is taken from his knuckle-white grasp. He doesn’t think about the gentle hands that cup his face, or the arms that wind around his stomach and unmoving chest, keeping him from splintering apart on this bench.

“Keeho. Look at me.”

He does, looking up and into Taeyang’s worried eyes. Familiar, so familiar to him, glowing in the dark of the night as they confessed their fears and their feelings without the prying eyes of anyone around to see them. 

Keeho feels whatever wall he managed to put up begin to shake, falling apart brick by brick, until it’s gone, crushed into nothingness. 

He wonders when it was he truly began to crack. Fragment into jagged pieces that would do nothing but cause harm to the ones around him. Keeho shouldn’t be here, the comments were right. Keeho shouldn’t be here, for their sake.

He feels sick.

Sick enough that he pitches forward, despite the arms still wrapped around him, bracing himself with a hand on his bouncing knee as the other comes up to cover his mouth, muffling his breaths as they come louder, heavier, faster, faster, faster. He can’t breathe. 

The arms around him tighten, Keeho wants to push them off but is afraid that if he moves, even slightly, he’ll fall to pieces in front of everyone. That’s the last thing he wants to happen, but he has little choice in the matter as the knot in his stomach does nothing but twist tighter and the tears that only blurred his vision before, now feel like a searing iron pressing against his eyes and burning his skin. He squeezes them shut, but it does nothing to stall the heavy flow of tears that chokes him up before he's crying. Loud, pained cries that spill from his lips, no matter how hard he tries to push them down.

He can’t breathe. Sobs wrack his frame, Keeho feels himself shaking more with each one that bursts forward, burning his chest and throat before finally tumbling past his lips. It’s hot, nearly too hot for him to stand, only getting worse as his breathing grows more shallow, more desperate. 

_He should just kill himself. He should just kill himself._

Keeho can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, can’t hear anything over his own harsh panting, or the echoing thump of his heart in his chest. He can’t hear anything, yet somehow, he can hear everything. Every inhale of Shota behind him, every panicked murmur of Jiung to his right. It’s all too loud, and it’s only growing louder with each question asked of him.

He can hear them, but the words are incomprehensible and sound like static in his ears, too loud yet too quiet and Keeho wishes it would just stop. He feels sick. His gasps for air are harsh and stuttering and bouncing around his chest too fast, as he just tries to remind himself to breathe.

“Keeho, look at me,” Taeyang repeats, his hands settling gently, yet steadily, on Keeho’s back. Rubbing nonsensical patterns on his skin and giving him something to focus on, something other than the weight in his chest and the nausea that makes his stomach churn with panic, “Look at me. Breathe, Keeho. You’re okay. Listen to me. I need you to listen to me, okay?”

It vaguely registers when someone—Shota? They belong to Shota. Keeho knows these arms—presses against his side, curling over his back and nosing at his shoulder blade. It’s Shota, Keeho knows that now, and the weight of the younger boy is so drastically different from the heavy stone pressing against his lungs.

“Steph-hyung,” Shota mumbles against his cheek, wrapping his body protectively around Keeho’s crumpled form, “Come back, please.”

“Shota, give him some space,” Taeyang gently admonishes, but Keeho can’t stop the cry that rips itself from his throat the second Shota’s weight even begins to lift from his back. He needs it there, grounding him, so different from the crushing wave of panic that demands his attention and calls him away from the present.

His fingers were going numb. Left hand tightening its grasp on the fabric of his pants as he bites down on the heel of the hand still pressed against his mouth in a desperate attempt to quell his cries.

Knee bouncing, hands shaking, fingers numb. His entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. A throbbing, pounding ache in his muscles as they contract with each shutter, coupled with the sharp and persistent pains in his chest with every staccato beat of his heart. He feels sick.

“Keeho, look at me,” Taeyang repeats for the third time, and this time, this time Keeho manages to lift his head enough to look the blonde in the eyes again, “There you are. Stay with me now, okay? Just focus on my voice, Angel.”

And he wants nothing more than to listen to Taeyang talk forever. No matter how much he was drowning, he could always count on Taeyang to be there for him.

“C-Can’t—Can’t—”

“You can, Keeho,” Taeyang’s voice was soft, smooth, as he ran a hand through Keeho’s hair, “You’re doing so well, Angel.”

Had Keeho been in a better position, he would have argued that, if anything, Taeyang was the angel out of the two of them, but his chest still aches and he still feels like he can't _breathe._

“You can. You’re breathing too fast, Keeho,” Taeyang murmurs, “I need you to slow your breathing. Breathe in through your nose, Love. Just focus on that. Do it for me.”

Breathing too fast. Keeho is breathing too fast. He drops his hand from his mouth to desperately cling onto Shota’s hand as Keeho lets himself be pulled forward from his hold. Taeyang, with a steady hand on the back of his neck, and the other finding Keeho’s free one to guide it to his chest, tucks Keeho’s face against his neck as he begins to sob in earnest.

His breaths are wet and messy against Taeyang’s shoulder, but he can feel them, just like he can feel Taeyang’s chest rising and falling under his clammy palm. He’s breathing. Keeho can feel himself breathing, just like he can feel Taeyang breathing, steady and rhythmic and Keeho _latches_ onto that. Finding comfort in the faint beating of Taeyang’s heartbeat in the hopes it will drown out the deafening noise of his own.

“Shh, Keeho—Angel, it’s okay. Just let it out,” Taeyang holds him closer, “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, you’re with me. You don’t have to be strong anymore, it’s okay.”

Keeho becomes all too aware of the tackiness of his face and the throbbing against his temple, but his hard, too-fast breathing is finally beginning to slow. His face feels hot, but Taeyang’s sweater is soft against his cheek, warm where his fingers grip it so tight he almost fears the fabric tearing.

He feels nothing but safety with Taeyang. The voices quiet and the comments stop running his mind in circles. Taeyang’s arms are warm and secure, even though Keeho feels like his blood is boiling under his skin, contrasting the sweat freezing on his skin, under his too-warm hoodie. Taeyang's arms fell safe.

“Look at me.”

Keeho listens; Keeho will always listen, he trusts Taeyang with his life, and as he glances back up at the older boy—trying not to think about how much of a mess he must look—all he sees is Taeyang’s eyes brimming with tears and filled with nothing but compassion and _sorrow._

“You’re okay, Keeho,” Taeyang assures him, unwrapping one of his arms from around Keeho’s still-shaking body to push back the strands of blue that had fallen loose from their previously gelled-back state. His sweat had probably turned his forehead blue.

He must look disgusting. He sure as hell _feels_ disgusting. 

Keeho sniffles, blinking back tears once again before surging forward and burying his face back into Taeyang’s chest.

“You’re okay,” Taeyang repeats, and, finally, Keeho thinks he might be right, “You’ve been strong for too long. You’ve been through so much, Angel,” he says as he cards his fingers through Keeho’s hair again, so gently, calming him far faster than anything had before in his life. “But we’re here now to protect you. You’re going to be okay. I promise you.”

“Hyung,” Keeho finally manages to breathe out, his voice sounding like he had just gargled a mouthful of rock salt, “I—I don’t know if—if I can _do_ this.”

The smile Taeyang gives him in response is small and sad, but his eyes are full of hope and his words are reassuring as he holds Keeho close, “I know you can, and do you know why? Because you’ve already made it this far, Keeho. Despite the odds, you’ve come out of your hardships stronger than ever, and I have no doubt that you will continue until you reach the top. And we’ll all be standing right there with you, ready to catch you if you ever stumble, and pick you up when you fall.”

Keeho can’t bring himself to form an answer with the growing lump in his throat, beyond a choked _‘thank you’_ that wrenches itself from his lips, before he closes his eyes and lets Taeyang hold him close for several undisturbed moments.

He lets Taeyang hold him until his tears finally stop, and Keeho pulls back with a fruitless attempt of wiping his face with the sleeves of his hoodie before Taeyang gently bats his hands away and scolds him for being too rough with his skin.

“Stop that. Wait another minute and one of the others can get you a damp paper towel.”

As if waiting for their cue, the other four members slowly, cautiously, make their way back into the room with quiet steps. Keeho wonders when they left. He hadn’t heard them, but he imagines it must have been around the time he felt Shota’s arms slip away from his waist and all he could focus on was _Taeyang._

“How—How are you feeling?” Jiung awkwardly asks, and for all of the sharpness Keeho has heard in his tone before, none of it is present now, and Keeho almost finds himself missing the sarcasm that usually drips from his words when the rapper normally addresses him.

“I’m—” Keeho clears his throat, cringing at the soreness that settles with the action, “Better…now.”

Taeyang _also_ clears his throat behind him, far more pointedly, and Keeho feels a semblance of shame color his cheeks before he looks away, away from the several pairs of inquisitive eyes that are trained on him. He resists the urge to bury his face back into Taeyang’s shoulder, to hide from this rag-tag group of misfits that he’s expected to lead.

“Tired,” he finally admits in a resigned tone, closing his eyes and letting his head hang down, “Really, really tired. M’sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Intak questions, coming forward to crouch in front of the bench Keeho was still sat at, not giving him anywhere he could look that wasn’t his earnest face, Taeyang’s chest, or the other three. So Keeho looks down at his lap, at his trembling hands that sit there, fingers squeezing his knees out of embarrassment. “You have nothing to apologize for, hyung. I’m sorry it took us so long to realize just how bad the comments were getting,” he says, so soft it makes Keeho’s head snap up in surprise before he repeats, “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Keeho swallows back another wave of tears, wanting so _desperately_ to tell Intak that he’s too young to worry about such things, and that Keeho can take care of himself, but the words never quite seem to put themselves together, so he only shakes his head with watery eyes and prays his message comes across.

Intak stands up, taking a step back and away from Keeho, but he doesn’t have the chance to say anything before Shota rushes to take his place. Dropping to his knees hard enough that Keeho can feel Taeyang physically recoil at the noise it makes, but then the younger boy all but throws himself into Keeho’s arms with a sniffle and he has nothing on his mind except for reassuring Shota that he’s okay. Barely a second goes past before Jongseob pushes himself into a similar position, and Keeho finds himself with his arms full of two sniffling maknaes.

He doesn’t mind it too much, though, because it brings some of the mischievous light back into Jiung’s eyes, and causes Taeyang’s arm to wrap back around his waist to help brace against the weight of the two youngest.

“I’m still sorry,” Keeho quietly mumbles, still hopeful that no one hears it but doubtful all the same, “I just…couldn’t keep it together anymore. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Taeyang scolds, voice growing slightly harder at Keeho’s repeated ask for forgiveness. He always tries so hard to hide his emotions, but, right now, they’re painfully obvious, “You don’t need to apologize. You don’t need to explain anything. You don’t need to justify what happened, when it happened, or why it happened. You don’t need to do anything but be yourself.”

The words _‘be yourself’_ normally sounded lame and tacky, but, falling from Taeyang’s lips, they still sounded lame and tacky, and Keeho couldn’t help himself from laughing. The action makes his chest ache with that same hollow, resonating feeling, but he doesn’t mind. Not when he has the others to fill that empty hole in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> hi wow you made it to the end, which wouldnt be that hard because this is probably one of the shortest things ive posted, but whatever
> 
> pls leave a comment and kudos if u liked it, esp since im writing this for a newer group it would be v nice seeing them and im power hungry and crave validation, even though this is kinda bad
> 
> maybe check out my other fics while ur here and follow me on twitter [@MVforVictory](https://twitter.com/MVforVictory)~~


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